


Hope for the best

by merrythoughts, ReallyMissCoffee



Series: Every part of you [3]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Demisexuality, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Touch-Starved, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23657245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrythoughts/pseuds/merrythoughts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReallyMissCoffee/pseuds/ReallyMissCoffee
Summary: He's not even decided until Charles stands, but the moment that Charles turns away from him, Erik suddenly reaches out, grasping Charles' wrist in a quietly-desperate silence. Erik hates it, but then... there's a lot of bad blood here. A lifetime of betrayal and bitterness.[Two scenes between Charles and Erik during the events of Days of Future Past]
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Series: Every part of you [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684630
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **_* Highly recommended to read through the series chronologically!_ **
> 
> Some delicious hurt/comfort, but getting closer to that elusive happy ending, I promise...
> 
> This particular story will have another chapter, a scene after the events in DoFP, then we diverge after Apocolypse!
> 
> Disclaimer: This is another merrythoughts & ReallyMissCoffee production. In case you don't know us, just a heads up: this is written first and foremost as an alternating roleplay between us which doesn't necessarily translate smoothly into an easily digestible or traditional fic format.
> 
> At times the flow can be jarring - we know - but please forgo any constructive criticism regarding the format. We are choosing to share our work and if you like it, you like it, if not, press the back button and try something else as we have no interest in attempting to fic-ify our stories and cut down on the introspection/words etc. Thanks! :)  
> ______  
> Erik written by ReallyMissCoffee, Charles written by merrythoughts

* * *

* * *

Charles doesn't want to believe this burly man, but he knows too much for it to be any sort of coincidence. It's entirely disconcerting for Logan to be aware of such intimate details _about_ him - apparently, Charles will tell Logan these secrets later? Charles isn't worried about himself, but _Raven_ in trouble? Raven's power _weaponized_? Charles may find all of what's being told to him to be incredulous, but Raven's his oldest friend. Perhaps it's been years since he even glimpsed her, but Charles isn't as detached as he may try to act.

He's still not over it. He's not over the pain of her choosing Erik - _Magneto_ \- over him. He's not over himself failing so miserably with her, so Charles agrees to help.

 _'Because you and Erik sent me back here together'_ is enough to render Charles speechless. He has no retort to give, but the way his stomach seems to tighten at the very _prospect_? It's beyond unsettling. Charles can't fathom a future where Erik and he would ever willingly work together. _Murderer_ , _monster..._ Charles throws these words out because it's much easier to isolate Erik for what he's done than think of the two of them _together_ in any way

Try as he might, Charles can't excise the memory of that night he drove to meet Erik. After all, it was him that gave in, reached out, grabbed and asked and wanted...

Then Magneto got in over his head with the assassination of JFK. It sickens Charles, but they're on their way to break Erik out.

Hank. Logan. Peter. Three mutants and him. Charles doesn't have his power, but he's here nonetheless, pulled into this crazy scheme on the chance of being able to save Raven ( _see_ Raven).

And somehow they do it. They manage it. The elevator dings open and there's Erik. Erik with cropped shorter hair and clad in a white prison jumpsuit. Erik looking surprised by Charles' presence. And Charles moves without thought, lunging toward Erik and punching him. Pain bursts through his hand, but it's a good kind of pain and Charles certainly doesn't regret it. The discomfort keeps him focused, keeps him able to stomach doing this at all.

The silver-haired speedster proves himself to be something else when he intervenes and there's thankfully no killing, but in doing so, Erik learns of the absence of Charles' powers.

Despite the space, the airplane feels claustrophobic. It's really not surprising that Erik pushes him for an answer as to how he lost his powers. It doesn't take much before emotions are thrumming and heated words exchanged.

There's nowhere to go, so when Erik says, " _let him come,"_ Charles does.

He grabs onto Erik's shirt (much like he had in that hotel room), but this time Charles doesn't angrily kiss Erik. No, this time Charles shows how hurt and weak he is.

"You abandoned me! You took her away and you abandoned me!" Despite saying this, despite this truth, Charles is still weighed down. There's no unburdening, and he wishes he hadn't said it at all.

The metal within the plane warps unhappily as Erik lists off the names of mutants experimented on and apparently butchered. Erik holds nothing back, equally furious and hurtful. As quickly as the fire roars, it's cut off and Charles leaves. Being around Erik is suffocating. He sits in the co-pilot's seat. At least Hank won't say anything about it.

The sun sets and their tempers calm. Alcohol helps, but Charles doesn't let himself go for another drink. He can't afford to have his senses dulled, especially not around Erik.

Charles learns that Erik _hadn't_ been trying to kill the president. They share a few words about Raven. There's an apology that Charles can't accept. Erik knows the truth now, that the curving stray bullet had severely impacted him.

A chess game seems safe enough. Almost like old times. The weight on Charles' chest lessens slightly. Their game plays out, Logan falls asleep. Charles is quiet, but there's really no great enjoyment in moving pieces strategically. The game ends and not knowing what else to do, Charles stands, figuring he'll stretch his legs and walk as he can.

* * *

A lesser man would have lost his mind in Erik's place, but Erik has always been good at fielding torture. Before, he'd had the use of his powers. Before, he'd lost himself in mastering them, in holding onto his rage, in gripping it tight and dreaming about a day in which he'd destroy Shaw for everything he'd done and taken.

Being locked away in a cement bunker in the Pentagon, the faintest traces of metal and his powers lost to him for years? For a crime he hadn't committed? It's a different sort of torture, but Erik bears it. Isolation might have killed another man, but he has the fire of anger to keep him company. He plays the past over and over again, a constant stream of pictures and emotions and horror that keep him thankful for the present. Erik closes his eyes, meditates, and mourns in the way that only he can. And, day by day, he waits for the moment that the humans above will undoubtedly slip up.

Because _this_ is the nature of humanity. Extreme acts of cruelty and sadism coupled by the fallacy of their very flawed nature. They are born to kill and torture, and they are born to fail. If only Charles had been able to see it--

When it happens, it happens in a rush. Every day is like the next up until it isn't. Up until a sudden message on his food tray, a quirked grin, and a shower of glass. It's like pulling a blanket off of his head, the sudden rush of clarity at seeing a mutant again. Erik's too stunned to take charge, but he's not passive as the boy sets him free.

Except the boy - Peter - isn't alone. While Erik hadn't been too stunned to move before, the moment that the elevator door opens and he sees _Charles Xavier_ standing on the other side, Erik feels a curious flicker deep inside. Shock and relief clashes with rage and bitterness, and the punch comes with a force strong enough that Erik might have been impressed under different circumstances. As it is, he's too taken with the situation - with a tense group of allies, Charles emphatically insisting that he _can't help_ when the guards come, and a room full of metal at Erik's disposal. His powers _ache_ in his veins as he reaches out, and the world explodes into chaos.

It doesn't come to a head until later that evening, after Erik has been given a fresh set of clothes and been loaded into a plane. He accepts it, understands enough, but not even he finds it _simple_ to accept what Logan winds up telling him. The _future_ is a concept best left ignored, but Erik can't help but be intrigued. Yet it's not only the future that intrigues him. It's not even just Mystique and her supposed actions.

It's Charles.

Charles, and how he hadn't acted out. Charles, and how he'd looked so ashamed and afraid in that split second, and then had still reached out to stop Erik even then. Erik stews on it until he can't anymore, and when he finally demands an answer on how Charles had lost his powers, the dam finally breaks.

Charles breaks, shattering beautifully, lashing out like an abused dog on the end of a bloodied chain. He accuses Erik of abandoning him, of being the one to make that choice, and everything comes rushing back in a flood of cold anger. It rises like a beast splitting the sea, the airplane rattling and crumpling as Erik's vitriol finally unleashes. He snarls right back - snarls his rage over Charles choosing to be so damn _selfish_ , over Charles giving up what had made him so perfect, over Charles choosing to be human and not telling him.

Because Erik remembers. He remembers feeling cut off, feeling abandoned in more ways than just the ones he mentions. He remembers that stolen moment in the hotel, remembers Charles' mind closed off to him, and it suddenly makes sense.

It's that thought that Erik muses over once Charles wanders away to cool off, and it's that thought that is still in Erik's mind when he approaches later that evening, a chess board in hand and an apology on his lips. An apology that Charles doesn't accept. But he _does_ accept the truth, or at least part of it. He accepts that Erik hadn't murdered JFK, and in the end, though it's begrudging, Charles does finally pick up his first pawn.

They play until Logan is asleep, each of his snores deep but quiet. They play until Erik can't pretend that he's paying attention to the game anymore. In the silence of calculation, in the horrible pleasure of conversation and acknowledgement, Erik can't help but remember that night. How bitter he'd been, how hurt. But now he knows better. Now he knows what he'd done, and while he aches to slaughter Moira more than ever, he doesn't let it show on his face.

It's when Charles finally leans back in his seat that Erik contemplates what to do. He's not even decided until Charles stands, but the moment that Charles turns away from him, Erik suddenly reaches out, grasping Charles' wrist in a quietly-desperate silence. Erik hates it, but then... there's a lot of bad blood here. A lifetime of betrayal and bitterness.

But this is _Charles_.

"I _am_ sorry," he says into the silence that belongs to only them now. "For what you've suffered. I didn't know." Not now, but - more importantly - not _then_. Not that night.

* * *

Now is hardly the time to let himself be swept up in sentiment. They're on the way to the Paris Peace Accords to stop Raven, but it's Erik, and it's Erik reaching out, his skin now softer from disuse. Charles should pull away, he should try and do something practical like get some rest... but he doesn't.

Erik's fingers, warm and strong, wrap around his wrist and this simple action - _Erik_ reaching for him - is enough to render Charles speechless. His throat feels thick, his pulse skipping ahead, leaving his mind behind and questioning. It's not lost on Charles that it's been years since they've touched, but it's also been years since he sought out companionship of any kind.

It shakes Charles, so much so that he does nothing but gaze down at Erik, his pounding heart aching within his chest. Despite them somewhat clearing the air, there still remains this distance between them. They may be united in saving Raven, but Charles isn't naive enough to think that this one common goal can fix what's broken. Fundamentally, Erik still believes what he believes. Lines have been drawn, it's just that their lines now _align_.

Another apology is forthcoming, but this time there's a certain weight to Erik's tone and even without his telepathy, Charles thinks that he now understands why that night all those years ago had been rife with such tension.

It's because Erik believed Charles to be purposely withholding, that he was consciously choosing to _not_ reach out and connect like they had that night before Cuba. It's no wonder that Erik had been so cold...

Charles isn't aware that he's even made the decision, but his other hand reaches out and he grasps Erik's forearm and pulls, urging him to stand. Erik does, and without any explanation needed, they move quietly to the back of the plane where the bathroom and refreshment area is. It's not entirely spacious, but it's what they have available and allows them a morsel of privacy (courtesy of a curtain).

Charles' hands grasp at Erik's chest, gripping tightly at the fabric there before pulling Erik close. He backs himself against cabinets, honestly appreciative for the support they offer. Charles' head is bowed, a blatant attempt to avoid eye contact. It already feels like too much to take. This is for self-preservation - at least what Charles has left.

* * *

Charles had dismissed Erik's last apology, an unspoken avoidance. Erik had tried not to feel the rejection of it at the time, watching the wry expression on Charles' face as he'd turned away and given in to the desire to play the game. It's a little like riding a bike, supposedly. Existing within Charles' space. Everyone that Erik has encountered within the past decade or so has been dull and normal, their intelligence limited by their brains. There have been no deeper meanings, no speaking through silence.

Yet like this, reaching out to touch Charles is almost a shout, to them. Charles might be choosing to keep himself human, might be choosing to hide away from what makes him _truly_ remarkable, but Charles still understands this. Understands him. He'd understood the hidden importance of Erik moving the first chess piece with his powers, and he understands the importance of Erik being the one to reach out, to apologize again.

This time, the apology might not be acknowledged, but Charles _does_ respond. He's quiet as he coaxes Erik into standing. Erik isn't particularly quiet himself, the touch to his forearm enough to draw a deeper breath from his throat. He still follows, still allows Charles to pointedly lead the way into the back of the plane, but even as Charles pulls the curtain, Erik can feel the lingering burn of his touch.

It's been years since Erik has touched, but it's also been years since he's _been_ touched. Try as he might, Erik can't pretend to be unaffected when Charles reaches for him. He can't pretend that he doesn't feel it when Charles backs up against the cabinets, and even though Charles denies him recognition, even though Charles doesn't look at him, Erik doesn't.

He might want to hate Charles for abandoning their brothers and sisters in their greatest need. Perhaps a part of him does. Yet as one of his hands lifts to Charles' head and Erik strokes his fingers carefully back through Charles' hair just to feel the sensation, he knows he can never fully hate this man.

Erik touches like he's afraid that Charles might break, or like Charles will take himself away, but he still touches. He still strokes his fingers through Charles' hair, still sets a hand over the small of his back, and when Erik ducks his head, it's to press his cheek to the side of Charles' head, close without eye contact.

"I've missed you," he says into the silence. "I never wanted your suffering."

* * *

Although he wishes it wasn't so, Charles cannot resist seeking out physical or emotional intimacy from Erik. He may still be at war with who Erik is and what he's done, but memories of warm, sunnier days spent together linger. Memories of other games of chess taunt him. Memories of them working together, of finding and training those special children are barbed and hooked. And the memory of that joy and delight of using their gifts while their hands touched and their mouths kissed stain... Such memories remain precious to him. They still have an insistent hold upon Charles.

Erik's body heat is soothing and Charles soaks it up. He's afraid that they won't be able to help Raven, he's afraid that while he's been hiding away, men like Trask have come into influential positions with the aim of wiping _them_ out. Charles doesn't want to think of those that have been lost - he can barely manage what _he's_ lost.

But now Erik's found and Erik doesn't let him flounder. A once familiar hand strokes through his hair and it's so soft, so tender - so different than that night at the hotel. Against what he wants, Charles trembles and Erik undoubtedly feels it because he pulls him closer. Charles sags into the touch, into the comfort. Charles' hands shake, but he doesn't let go of Erik's shirt.

Erik's words pierce like a bullet and Charles swallows thickly. He won't allow himself to cry. He swallows again, scrambles for some semblance of control, but he's not sure he finds it. Instead, Charles finds himself speechless, but he knows that he can't handle this gentle caress from a tip of a blade, for that's what Erik is giving him - softness entwined with such hurt.

"Kiss me," Charles murmurs and he lifts his head up, red-rimmed eyes imploring.

* * *

There are miles of broken promises and open wounds between them, and as Erik's hands find purchase and he feels Charles' sudden tremble against his chest, he wonders how this ever happened. How had one man so effortlessly wormed his way into Erik's life - so close and so entwined that even years of tortured isolation later, Erik still can't separate Charles from his identity. He'd known Charles only for months at his side. Yet in that time, he'd become something vital. Something fundamental lodged in Erik's core. Something that Erik hasn't been able to excise no matter how hard he's tried.

This proves it. Even quietly furious, bitter, and lost as he'd been the moment that Charles' fist had connected with Erik's cheek, Erik hadn't been able to deny the flicker of relief and familiarity. Time might supposedly heal wounds, but it can't dim Charles' impact on Erik's life.

Now Erik knows. Now he knows what Charles had given up. Now he can feel the way that Charles sinks against his chest, trembling, and Erik doesn't need to look at him to understand. He sets his jaw and closes his eyes in those few seconds it takes for Charles to get himself back under control. They open again when Erik feels Charles shift, and while a part of him wants to comment on Charles' red-rimmed eyes and the quiet suffering in his expression, he doesn't.

Instead, the hand in Charles' hair slides down, tentative, still expecting Charles to twist away, to deny him in some fashion. Yet Charles does nothing of the sort. He stands there until his cheek rests in Erik's palm and he doesn't turn away when Erik closes the distance between them.

Erik kisses Charles like a promise. Not like the countless promises broken and shattered between them, but like the promises they'd once shared, a lifetime ago. Before confinement, before Cuba, before they needed to make the choices they'd made.

* * *

Erik's softness now blots out the memory of that intense night they shared in the hotel room. They'd fucked that evening and despite the snarled words and roughness, Charles still spilled from Erik pushing into him, and he wasn't alone either. No, Erik had followed suit, filling him with heat and leaving him strung out and sensitive.

Afterward, Charles drove back home, clothes a mess, sore, sweaty and shaken up. Through the years, Charles has chosen to fixate on that specific memory instead of their first night together. He'd be ashamed to admit that he's even wanked off to it a few times.

But this moment is far more reminiscent of that sensual, gentler exploration. The sweetness burns, the softness somehow sharp, but Charles doesn't turn away or push Erik. Perhaps he should. He could pull himself back together, gather the scattered pieces up, and go and lick his wounds. While Charles hasn't been off actively defending humans, this is still a major blow, to learn that humans would create machines to target and exterminate them as if they were unsightly cockroaches.

Charles has been foolish, but can he trust that Erik can help? That Erik can help them save her? He hopes and in this fragile state, Charles tells Erik what he wants (and needs). Erik's hand travels down to the side of his bearded cheek, warm and solid and Charles melts into the touch.

The kiss is a wash of pleasure, sunshine breaking through the clouds to bathe skin in warmth, and Charles may let out some broken sound, but he doesn't pull away. He kisses back, desperate to re-familiarize himself with Erik's mouth once more. All the hurt and loss bubbles up within Charles, but instead of overwhelming him, he pours it out into the kiss. His hands stop grasping on Erik's shirt in order to wrap around Erik's back, hungrily feeling up strong shoulders as he rubs and touches whatever he can reach.

* * *

All those years ago, Erik had felt this same thing. He'd felt Charles' lips on his, had touched his skin, had held him down, and had given and taken pleasure in return, but this time is different at the first touch of lips. Then, Erik had felt Charles' distance, had assumed his silence had been due to pettiness and anger.

He'd felt wronged, bitter, and hurt, and he'd thrown himself into the muted physicality of it. The act had been pleasurable, but it had been like pressing a finger against an itch and refusing to scratch it. It hadn't been enough.

Oh, how knowledge changes everything. As, while Erik still can't feel Charles' presence in his mind, now he knows why. He might find the thought of Charles withdrawing from the world repulsive, might find it an affront to Charles' very nature, but Erik at least _understands_ now. And as they meet in the first kiss in years and Erik feels Charles immediately melt into it before surging ahead, he understands even more. Charles might not be speaking into his mind, but Erik can recognize the grip of Charles' hands, and the gentle ferocity in the kiss.

Charles kisses his pain out, pouring it between them so clearly that Erik swears he can taste it. Without comment, he presses Charles back against the wall harder, all but crushing him there as he kisses him. Erik's skin feels awash with the sensation of _touch_ , but it's the taste of Charles' lips on his own, the faint puffs of breath, and the sound that Charles lets out that overwhelms completely.

Erik cups Charles' cheek like he'll vanish if he doesn't. He kisses his lips darker, mindless of the scratch of Charles' beard. Charles might look haggard still, but that's never been Erik's focus. He kisses the _man,_ not the body, and as his free hand slides down, he clutches Charles closer. In this moment, Erik can almost forget everything else. Almost. It'll always linger, but perhaps not scream as loudly right now.

* * *

Charles remembers the naive hope he'd felt about their mission in Cuba. He'd been terribly optimistic that if they could simply show the governments and leaders of the world that mutants were on their side, they'd be all right. But Erik held his own ideas of what being 'better men' looked like. Laying on the beach, the sounds of the missiles blowing up in the sky like fireworks were muted, but came with such relief...

Because Raven was right. Charles _doesn't_ want to be against the world. It would crush him to do so.

But now knowing how far some humans go, that this man Trask weaponizes Raven's very DNA into these Sentinels to hunt all of them down... It presses down upon Charles, this inescapable weight, this horrendous fate looming over their kind.

So he kisses Erik and Charles clings to the knowledge that Erik _hadn't_ killed the President, that Erik is here to stop Trask and save Raven. Charles may not have his powers, but he has Logan, Hank and now Erik here with him. He's determined to make amends, to save Raven and prevent this future that he's not sure he can even fully realize. He must.

He wants to say, _don't leave me,_ but Charles doesn't - can't. His mouth is occupied with Erik's and oh, there's a fierce spark of hope that wants to believe that there can be a home for all of them (again).

He tilts his head into Erik's palm that's cupping his cheek, he shakes and hates that somehow, once again, Erik is composed. And Charles clings to that strength, Erik letting him. When he finally breaks away from the kiss, Charles is panting and tucking his face against Erik's neck.

"We need to save her," Charles murmurs thickly, quietly. "Promise me you'll do everything within your power to stop her."

* * *

Erik can taste the earthen bite of alcohol on Charles' lips, a faded ghost of a taste that tingles along his lips and his tongue. Erik had shared the drink earlier, had allowed the taste of it to linger on his tongue, but the source has nothing on this. Perhaps the taste is muted; perhaps the bite of the alcohol isn't truly there. But Charles is. Charles' lips are warm and demanding and desperate, and as Erik clutches him close and presses him back hard against the wall, he wonders if he'll ever be able to step away from this moment.

It's more than being touch-starved. It's more than connection and warmth and recognition. It's Charles. It's the taste of Charles' lips, the clutch of his hand, the low cadence of his voice, the tightness of each sigh. It's a different kind of connection. It's a form of obsession, perhaps. Definitely a form of desperation. And when Charles breaks the kiss, the half-breath they share is intimate in a way that has no description in any of the languages that Erik speaks.

But it's Charles' voice that cuts down to the quick. It's the way that Charles clings to him - so unlike the man he'd once been, and yet more that man now than Erik has seen him in a decade - and when Charles tucks his face in against Erik's neck, Erik hesitates. Then he pulls Charles in closer, closing his own eyes as he breathes in deeply and slowly.

The thing is... this supposed future can't be allowed to happen. If Erik can stop it, he needs to. Humans were always going to fight back, were always going to fight their own evolutionary extinction, but Erik hadn't ever expected them to harness mutant abilities to forestall their existence.

The thought of Mystique still leaves a wistful, bitter feeling in Erik's stomach. He knows what he might need to do. As much as he wants to save her, he knows that might not be an option. And, as Charles clings to him and asks Erik to stop her, Erik swallows down a small wave of regret and sorrow and resignation. He holds Charles tighter.

"I promise," he swears. "Logan's future won't be our future. I'll do whatever it takes to ensure that doesn't happen. We'll save her, Charles. We'll stop her. You have my word."

* * *

Hope isn't necessarily easy to embrace, but what other choice does Charles have? Without his abilities, he's rather limited as to what he can do. He'll need to depend on Hank, Logan, and Erik and as much as Charles doesn't want to be so emotional, he can't help it. After his earlier eruption - practically an altercation - it may be too late to scrape up any remnants of self-respect.

But in dire moments, self-respect isn't imperative, it takes a backseat. Whether or not Charles wants to allow himself to behave like this, it doesn't matter. It's happening and Erik, thankfully, seems to be allowing it.

There may be layers of clothing between them, but Erik's warmth still bleeds through. Charles makes his plea and given the graveness of the situation, he doesn't think anyone would blame him for nearly begging Erik.

Charles is pulled closer, gripped tighter and he lets himself, for this one instant, find respite with Erik. Perhaps Erik hadn't killed the President, but Charles isn't foolish enough now to think that this magically makes their ideals fit.

But their ideals don't matter as Raven is the common denominator between them. Raven is what matters. They're on the same mission and they can't fail.

Charles only gives a jerky nod in response. He doesn't trust himself to speak more, but he gives himself time. Time to pull himself back together and time to calm down. As he does, his frantic clutching at Erik gradually eases up. He's unsure how long they've been here, but when they part, he feels...

Better. Hopeful.

* * *

Erik doesn't move. He doesn't need to. This isn't something that they had ever offered one another in the past; Charles had never sought solace in Erik's arms, and Erik had never offered to hold him in the past. It had never been the nature of their relationship. Yet as Erik holds Charles now - as he feels each vulnerable, minute shudder and shiver and the way that Charles grips at him like he's the last rock before getting swept down the falls - he wonders why he hadn't allowed this before.

Now, the action is slightly tainted with bitterness and regret. They aren't the same men. Their experiences have never aligned, but the difference is far more striking now. Yet as Erik holds Charles and the two of them weather this new storm together, Erik closes his eyes and quietly locks the memory away in his mind.

It's been a long time since he'd allowed himself to think about that night before the beach. The hotel room had been bitter and painful to dwell on and it had dominated everything. Now, as Erik shelters Charles and they exist in silence, he allows himself to catalog everything. Charles' warmth, his scent, his touch, but also what it feels like to _be_ hugged and hug in return.

Simple things long denied to him. Erik can't remember ever being hugged before. Not truly.

But when he feels Charles beginning to relax, when he feels the tension draining away, Erik knows that the moment is over. They've been here too long, tucked away in a stolen moment just between them.

Erik is the one to draw away first, sensing that he should. Charles looks... raw, but there's something in his eyes that strikes Erik as familiar. Hopeful. He hadn't known how much he'd missed seeing hope in Charles' eyes until now.

"We should get some rest," he says reluctantly, one of his hands sliding up to touch Charles' cheek. Erik imprints the feeling in his memory before drawing back. Charles moves with him, slowly piecing himself back together, and Erik lets his hand fall away reluctantly.

When they land, everything will change. Erik doesn't know which way the wind will wind up blowing, but he can only hope that this connection - this momentary respite - isn't fleeting. While he won't risk the thousands of mutants' lives out there, while he can't allow himself that luxury, he doesn't _want_ to lose Charles because of it. Maybe, just this once, Erik can hope for the best too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never fear, we're getting closer to our divergent point (next story in the series) & we can work toward a happy end then! :)

* * *

* * *

Physical wounds heal. Pain has long been a companion in Erik's life. Gripping, resilient, and constant, like an old friend. It's something that he's always been able to rely on. Pain, anger, and determination. His own personal creed. Yet deep inside, maybe twisted into a shape unrecognizable to anyone else, hope still remains. It's been blackened around the edges, fractured and sharp so that it can't possibly fit into any existing puzzle, but Erik feels it just the same.

Physical wounds heal, but emotional wounds don't. Memories don't.

Charles had seized control of him. For one blinding, dizzying moment of unbalanced confusion, Erik's mind had not been his own. There had been a rush of power, blinding and chaotically beautiful, and then nothing. Then him standing with a hand outstretched and the steel beams shifted from where they had been.

_If you let them have me, I'm as good as dead. You know that_.

Charles could have crucified Erik then. Erik had expected him to. After everything, after all of the choices that Erik has made, after everything that Erik had done - even if he had believed it right at heart - Charles would have been within his rights to hold Erik there. To let the humans have their pound of flesh.

But he hadn't. Charles had let him go. Had let Erik carry himself away with whatever dignity he'd had left, neck bleeding sluggishly and the heavy realization of a new conviction in his chest.

They'd done it. They'd changed history. As bitter a pill as it is to swallow, in pushing Raven so hard, in challenging her, she had ultimately made the choice that Erik will never be able to make. With one simple action, she'd reversed her future. She'd chosen a different side, had showcased herself as a hero by making Erik the villain.

Even weeks later, he's still viciously proud of her.

Mutants everywhere have a voice now. They are visible, but for now, humanity seems willing to co-exist. The taste of that reality sits sour and bitter on Erik's tongue, but he understands the psychology of it. It's as Trask wanted. A united front against a common enemy.

Erik.

He goes deep to hide away, treating his own injuries and reflecting on his circumstances. One day he's proud, the next he's aimless. He allows the anger to surface on occasion, but as Erik considers the scope of things - multiple governments out for his blood, Raven as the mutant figurehead, and a swift execution in his future - it can't take hold. He feels... something. Something new. Resignation. Peace. Loss. _Lost_.

* * *

Raven is safe. The President is safe. The insidious Sentinel program is no longer operating and mutants are safe. Erik is...

Charles supposes he's safe as well. Perhaps he should have let the officials try to lock up Erik once more, but Charles couldn't live with himself if he allowed that to happen. Fundamentally, Charles knows that Erik _is_ good. Erik fully believed that he was doing what was right for mutant-kind. _Misguided._ His old friend was misguided.

That doesn't necessarily make it easy for Charles to forgive Erik for pulling the trigger and trying to kill Raven, however. Funny how such a small piece of metal can bring forth such destruction. But Erik is also complicated - has always been complicated - compounding onto their complicated history... but after the events in D.C., Charles has a renewed purpose.

Back in his wheelchair, leg muscles occasionally spasming, pain shooting through him and most definitely no longer walking, Charles is able to utilize his abilities once more. He works diligently on re-opening his school, pouring himself into first cleaning up the place and then setting up instructors who share his vision. Next, he seeks out those gifted youngsters who deserve to be supported and encouraged and safe. Hank helps and supports him through it all. Raven is...

Although it pains him, Charles does not find her with Cerebro. He respects her choice, allows her to do what she wishes. He remembers the names Logan told him. It's good to have a purpose - especially one he's capable of handling. Charles is busy enough with the school anyhow.

It's a month into the semester that Charles finds himself bundled up and rolling himself out onto his own balcony. Outside of the city, the sky is clear enough for Charles to gaze at the stars, so he looks up and takes in a deep breath.

* * *

By rights, Erik should be gone. Should be hidden somewhere away from humans, away from weaponry. So far away that he will be able to sense the first metal invading his hide-out at a few miles out. Yet despite the ridiculousness of it, despite the lack of sense, he has one final stop to make.

Charles' manor stands tall even in the dark when Erik finally walks onto the grounds, months after the televised altercation. He lifts his chin, breathing in rich, sweet country air - the scent of life and the remnants of sun-warmed foliage and dust - and for one moment, he remembers being here. Remembers the way it had felt to belong.

At first, Erik wonders if this trip will take him all evening. The gauze at his throat is long gone, but he still feels weak from it on occasion, the scar still plainly etched into his skin. Yet as he reaches out, as he feels the magnetized world around him, the shape of a wheelchair quickly super-imposes itself on his senses. Erik follows the pull and he _knows_.

There is no fanfare as he levitates himself up by the steel in his shoes. One final word. One final moment. No helmet, no dogma, no predictability. And though Erik's stomach twists in a quiet, visceral shame when he _sees_ Charles in his wheelchair, he lands quietly on the balcony beside him, features drawn, eyes tired, shoulders low.

"I thought it fitting," Erik says, voice scratchy with disuse. "One final goodbye at my first real home. Where we truly began."

* * *

Comfortably, Charles reaches out his mind to gently brush against each body inside, "checking up" as it were on students and staff. He smiles to himself, soothed by the calming presence and fullness of the rooms. They're not anywhere near capacity - not yet - but considering it had been only Hank and him before, Charles' childhood home _is_ bustling with life. With hope. At times Charles can still feel like an impostor - taking on the professor role after so many years - but he figures it will get easier as the semesters pass. This time he won't fail, he won't abandon them.

More out of curiosity than paranoia, he stretches his mind out further, out and away from the school. Charles isn't expecting to find anyone.

But he does. Of all people, he finds _Erik_ and Erik is swiftly making his way closer to the manor - closer to _him_. Charles sits up straighter, his hands fidgeting in his lap. He's not even sure how or what he feels. There's no helmet, nothing stopping Charles from diving into Erik's mind and searching for the reason for this visit, but he doesn't.

Next, he considers alerting Hank, but Charles finds himself unafraid. He may be confined in his wheelchair, but Charles is far from defenseless.

Although... he doesn't suspect that Erik is coming here to make trouble, at least not without the aid of the helmet. Charles tries to calm his breathing, he wets his lips and waits as he keeps tabs as Erik draws nearer. Despite it being only months since they last saw each other, it once again feels as if it's been years.

When Erik finally finds his way next to him, Charles gazes upward, lips tight. Somehow, hearing Erik speak and noting how hoarse his voice sounds, Charles finds any anger dying down.

"You've come to say goodbye then?" Charles asks. He knows the answer, of course. It isn't safe for Erik to be here, and he highly doubts Erik would even want to stay.

_I am glad that you're okay,_ he adds.

* * *

The mind is an odd thing. Reality has never been so blatant. There are no grey areas now, no uncertainties left. Erik knows with one hundred percent certainty that there are hundreds, if not thousands of men who want to see him dead. It's dangerous to even be here; any one student could be the cause of Erik's inevitable fall.

And yet when he stands next to Charles, for a few fragile, aching seconds, it's as though nothing has changed. Logically, Erik knows that _everything_ has. The mind and its desperation to cope, to adapt, to _survive_ , will never cease to amaze Erik, even if that mind is his own.

Erik looks down at Charles benignly, noting the more elegant cut to his hair - not as long, but not as short as it had been all those years ago. He's clean-shaven now, dressed smartly and comfortably. The wheelchair that he's sitting in has a sleekness to it. By comparison, despite the turtleneck hiding the lingering scar on his throat, and the brown leather jacket that hugs Erik's shoulders, Erik finds that Charles looks much more put together. The irony is not lost on him, but the last two months haven't been easy.

Slowly, reality bleeds back and takes its rightful place. Charles can't stand, and Erik can't stay. Yet Charles still asks, his tone low, his words smooth. He's angry, but not as angry as Erik had assumed. Erik inwardly marvels at Charles' resilience, at his everlasting, damnable hope-- but before he can respond, Charles' voice slides into his mind and Erik's lips part on a soundless, reverent breath.

"Yes," Erik answers, setting a hand on the banister of the balcony. It's to steady himself, to ride the wave of _everything_ that having Charles' mind touch his means to him, but outwardly, he only grips it tight.

"You and I both know there's no other option."

He's quiet for a moment. Then he looks back at Charles, _really_ looking at him. When he reaches back with his own thoughts, it's tentative, rusty. But if this is the last time, Erik can't ignore it.

_You look well,_ he thinks. _As you should, with everything you've accomplished. Teaching. Helping. Belonging. Everything you wanted._

* * *

What would Erik have done if Charles hadn't been outside? Would he have come to the door and knocked? Rang the bell? It doesn't matter as Charles _was_ here and available for a drop-in. But Erik is here as well. Physically, standing next to him, and Charles is at a loss for words. Despite having a modicum amount of time to prepare for Erik's arrival, Charles doesn't feel prepared in the least. His pulse may not be staccato-quick, but Charles doesn't know how long that will last. These reunions never seem to produce good outcomes.

There is so much to say - too much to say - and yet Charles doesn't launch into any sort of tirade. Instead, he asks the obvious question and he remarks on Erik being _okay_. It's paltry conversation at best, but Charles _is_ glad that Erik is all right. The bullet hadn't hurt Erik irreparably. His friend is less put together and fatigued, but better than anyone, Charles understands the toll mental duress can put upon the body and mind. Charles has moved forward, but what about Erik?

It doesn't escape Charles the effect his mental voice has on Erik. Charles doesn't call attention to it. He lets Erik take time, lets Erik reach out and place a hand on the balcony's banister to steady himself, and Charles says nothing when Erik states that staying isn't a viable option. Because Erik is right.

And Charles isn't relieved by this. But he likely should be. Certainly there couldn't be any future for Erik here. Erik wouldn't be content...

Charles meets Erik's gaze and his throat tightens. Erik may excel at twisting the knife, but Charles knows that Erik never intentionally meant to cause him harm. Wan and weary, it's still Erik, that lonely man that Charles saved from drowning all those years ago. Together they'd started something so special, they'd _become_ special for one another. The betrayal of Erik turning on Raven is still there, but Charles can't summon the anger up, not when Erik has made an effort to seek him out _and_ for a goodbye.

_"_ Oh, not quite everything," Charles remarks quietly on a sigh. Months ago, he'd truly believed that they were going to bring Raven home _together_. He'd been that hopeful fool once more, and Erik had unabashedly demonstrated just how far he'd go...

_But enough._

* * *

On the way here, Erik had allowed himself to go over what he could say. Options had offered themselves to him and he'd considered quite a few of them, but now that he's here, standing beside Charles once again, Erik finds that the words are secondary. It's always been like this with Charles, and Erik suspects that he'll never find this again. This meaningful connection by simply being in another person's presence. The comfortable silence. The _comfort_ by simply being in Charles' presence, regardless of the way the both of them feel about one another.

Once, Erik had been sorely tempted to stay. Even now, worn, weary, and low, the thought crosses his mind. Yet it barely takes root before Erik inwardly sweeps it aside with a lasting sort of finality.

This is not his world. There's no place for him here. This is Charles' dream, his cause, _his_ purpose, and Erik won't rob Charles of his peace of mind. If Charles harbored him and the government found out, Erik would take this all away again by proxy, and despite what he's done, despite the tension still crackling between them, he won't do that to Charles. Not when he's finally looking like Charles again.

It doesn't mean that having Charles look up at him doesn't mean something. It doesn't mean that something in Erik's chest doesn't twist and tighten as he breathes in the silence between them. Charles' voice sliding through his mind is brief, perhaps, but Erik locks the feeling away. Of all of their encounters, of all of the moments passed between them, this is the one that feels the most poignant. And, at its heart, the most like a real goodbye.

_I'm proud of you, Charles._ Erik says after a longer, weighted silence between them. He feels calm, resigned, almost at peace.

He was always going to be the weapon. It was what he'd been raised to be; a perfect catastrophe, the shifting tide, a sea of change and destruction. But Charles? Charles was always going to be the opposite. The port in Erik's storm. Erik breathes in deep, feeling the cold air of the countryside in his lungs. He holds it there like he's trying to hold the memory, and when he looks back out over the grounds, his resignation is more pronounced.

_Everything you've done. What you've created. What you'll accomplish here... you were always going to make a difference. Now you can._

* * *

It's not only Raven's absence that weighs upon Charles. If that was the case, his chest wouldn't be feeling tight, his fingers wouldn't itch to reach out and touch Erik, to feel his heat, his solidity.

Despite them being physical in the past, it's never been about the carnal or sexual, which is why Charles knows that the one time they did fuck it had meant less to both of them when compared to the emotional intimacy they'd shared before Cuba and Shaw and missiles.

Weapons always seem to get between them. No matter what they want, no matter the connection they've found, there is a distance, forged from circumstance or decision, and Charles doesn't know how to bridge the gap.

There is no doubt in his mind that this is a goodbye, even so, Charles lets himself appreciate Erik's presence. After all, it's been a lengthy time since they've engaged in communicating like this and for once, no big disaster is looming on the horizon. At least not yet.

Lashing out in anger about the incident in Paris will solve nothing, and while the hurt may linger, Charles has much more in his life now. He can't be allowed to crumble and fall to pieces - he won't let himself. Charles doesn't look inside Erik's mind to find the regret - he knows it's there, and he doesn't search to find Erik's reasoning - Charles knows that too. It's always been far too easy for Erik to expect the worst.

When Erik does finally speak up, Charles' mind is awash in Erik's heartfelt pride and praise. It makes his own hands tremble, his pulse hurry.

Charles wouldn't be here without Erik impacting him, but he doesn't say this.

_Well, I may not be able to help them all,_ Charles begins. _But I'll try my best to help those that I can._

Because Erik's accusation of Charles abandoning _all_ _of them_ had hooked itself into his mind. While he was torn up over _himself_ being abandoned, Erik had been seeing his fellow mutants experimented on and killed. Erik and his big picture...

Charles can't lead a cause, but he can provide a safe place for mutants to grow and learn within.

* * *

Charles gives Erik very little in return, but it's never been about Charles giving anything to him. Erik has never craved Charles' praise because as astute and well-spoken a man as Charles Xavier is, it's his actions that speak the loudest for him. The very fact that Erik is standing here in the moonlight, bathed in the fresh, clean air of the countryside says more than Charles ever could. He undoubtedly has enough firepower in his school to subdue Erik, to call the authorities, to turn him into whatever governing power Charles deems fit, and yet Erik hears and feels nothing.

No students within the school stir. No one rouses or gathers in fear. Charles could be blocking Erik's perceptions, but Erik knows he's not.

He can see the minute tremble in Charles' hand as clearly as Charles can feel the pride in Erik's voice. Erik knows that while Charles may not have the words, he feels this moment just as strongly as Erik does.

Besides, Erik doesn't miss the subtle emotions laced in Charles' words as they drift back through his mind. Charles speaks about helping the mutants that he can, and there's an undercurrent of duty, of purpose, of protection... and of regret. Erik swallows back the silent understanding - all of them. Charles doesn't need to say it; Erik understands.

_Then I'm leaving them in skilled hands._ Erik finally allows himself to look back over at Charles, to look down at him and take in every flicker of expression, every stray strand of hair, every tremble or micro-expression. Everything that makes him _Charles_.

Which is why Erik sees the flicker in Charles' eyes. The unnameable thing that Charles can't acknowledge. Erik swallows.

_There's nothing that you could have done,_ Erik says enduringly, because even though _Charles_ is the one who can read minds, Erik still knows him. There's regret and resignation in his own mind, and yet even as Erik sends the words back to Charles, he reaches one of his hands out, slower, tentative. In the end, Erik doesn't make contact. He holds it there, the back of his hand a few inches from Charles' cheek, as though the desire to touch is there, but the privilege isn't.

* * *

There is no mission, no high stakes looming on the horizon, and yet they still do not have time. It's almost cruelly ironic that these instances only seem to take place in passing, stolen moments that poignantly punctuate Charles' life but are over far too quickly. Charles scans through each occupied room within the school, ensuring that they won't be seen or interrupted because that's certainly the last thing either one of them needs (and Charles would rather _not_ use his abilities in such a manner).

The issue is that there is far too much to say, yet they both know that words do not change their predicament. Erik is a wanted man, a villain in the world's eyes, his image splashed upon every newspaper and over the television screen. Undoubtedly, Erik doesn't even mind, for Raven's intervention still stopped that horrible future from coming into existence. It would be far too dangerous for Erik to stay here like some kept pet, and Charles very much doubts that Erik would want to live like that anyhow.

There will always be a deep well of hurt and regret between them - the incidents in Cuba, the bullet, Paris and now D.C... Each difficulty endured has brought Charles to _this_ place now. He's moving away from bitterness and toward acceptance. Charles knows he's stronger now, more clear-headed, and a large part is due from his engagements with Erik. Each and every experience has shaped him and allowed him to arrive at this point, so how can he possibly poke at old wounds?

Instead, they look at each other intently, and Charles sincerely hopes that it isn't for the last time.

It's not until Erik seeks to assure him that there was nothing he could have done differently that Charles' composure cracks. One of Erik's hands hesitantly reaches out, but the journey stops - Erik doesn't go further - doesn't dare push for it, and a small wince passes over his features. He doesn't like Erik stopping.

Charles gives a tight smile, his throat seeming to have invented a lump within it. Want warring with hesitation is blatantly mirrored to Charles. He raises his own hand, placing it over Erik's palm and coaxing Erik's own to move the rest of the way until the back of Erik's hand is against Charles' clean-shaven cheek. It's better.

_That doesn't stop me from ruefully wishing for it,_ Charles answers as he leans into Erik's touch.

* * *

Erik might not be able to feel Charles' emotions the same way that Charles can feel his if he so wishes, but he doesn't need to. He catches the look in Charles' eyes, that half-wince, and the longing clear when Erik stops moving his hand closer. It's a quiet whisper of reassurance, of encouragement, but Erik still waits, because regret and loss will never be consent and Erik has taken far too much from this man to continue taking blindly.

When Charles reaches up mutely and Erik feels the soft press of his palm against Erik's calloused hand, he releases a quiet, broken breath and watches as Charles slowly pulls his hand closer. He doesn't dare move, but the delicate way that Charles touches Erik's hand to his cheek and then leans into it feels devastating in a way that Erik can't name. It feels like someone has swung a hammer against his stomach, but the ache left behind is equal parts agonizing and sweet. Trust Charles to endlessly cross all of the wires.

Yet it is the burst of emotion in Erik's mind that truly threatens to rend him to nothing. Charles' mental voice sounds weaker, and as it swirls around his thoughts, he can't tell if the regret and the loss and the wistful, tenuous sadness and hope belongs to him, or to Charles. Perhaps both. That, he thinks, would be fitting.

Erik's hand presses firmer to Charles' cheek then, and he doesn't register moving until he's already turned away from the balcony.

He has never truly seen Charles like this before - not sat in his wheelchair, not autonomous despite his physical limitations - and yet Erik doesn't kneel down beside the chair. In the base part of his mind, he suspects that it would be an insult. Instead, Erik bends down, and when his free hand touches Charles' jaw to tilt it up, Erik presses their foreheads together. He doesn't move, doesn't do more than breathe, because this... this is everything. Acknowledgement, regret, apology, and more all rolled into one. His own throat feels tight.

_Charles... Don't take the blame for this. Don't let it hold you back._ Erik's fingertips slide back, calloused and rough, stroking through Charles' hair carefully. _Raven bought you time; use it to teach them. Use it to make them better. Teach them never to be ashamed, by **living** it yourself. Promise me. _

Erik adds, quiet but fierce. He doesn't know what emotions Charles can sense from him, doesn't know what else to do, but he does know this. He knows that he never wants Charles to hide away, never wants him to feel shame for his abilities. He never wants Charles to believe himself anything less than beautiful, the way that Erik sees him.

* * *

While this isn't the first time Erik's seen Charles in the wheelchair, this moment is glaringly different. For one, they're alone - there are no cameras and no onlookers witnessing anything. It's just two men regarding each other, two men who try to do what's right. But Erik and his big picture, Erik and his distrust for humans... Charles understands - he's well aware that his experiences are vastly different than Erik's past. Each experience has shaped them and formed their respective outlook and ideals.

Truly, _fear_ is the worst. Because it's fear that has divisions cropping up. Once there are sides, an _us_ and a _them_ are produced, and then fear of _the other_ runs rampant. Mutants can fear humans and humans can fear mutants. Perhaps he's still too idealistic to hope that mutants and humans could live amidst each other in harmony, but Charles is going to fight for the outcome he wants and for that kind of future.

There is an obvious height difference between them now, but it doesn't faze Charles. Once, he was much more prone to being self-conscious about such a thing, but a shift in perspective can offer one a great deal. Besides, it's never been about his physical ability or prowess. Not for them. Not for Erik.

Erik's hand against his cheek isn't as warm as Charles remembers, but he supposes he likely has an idealized or romanticized version of a few of their past interactions. Nevertheless, Charles' hold remains and it's enough to prompt Erik into moving.

Charles' smile is more genuine, but still sad as Erik bends down and tilts Charles' head up. Their foreheads meet and press together, another connection between them forged. The fact that they're not kissing makes it all the more intimate, and Charles struggles to keep his own thoughts from bombarding Erik.

As to not disturb this moment, he breathes as quietly as possible. Erik's words both soothe and flay because Charles remembered making Erik promise him something on the plane too...

As fingers stroke through Charles' hair, he takes a deeper breath in an attempt to steady himself, but he's not quite sure it works.

"I promise," Charles says, and he may speak aloud, but he wraps Erik's mind in his own calm but determined assurance. It's all he can give Erik.

_Please be safe._

* * *

There is a small, buried, hidden part of Erik's mind that wishes the world could merely end like this. That wishes that Charles could simply think the world into stalling. To live in one second for eternity once would have sounded like a personal hell. Now, like this, Erik wonders if it wouldn't be better than everything that he'll need to face in the future. This moment is one he knows he'll live in. This moment is one he knows he'll remember. The scent of distant pine and rain, the warmth of Charles' body, the feeling of Charles' breath against his chin and the distant sound of fox calls muffled in the night. He aches to stay just like this.

But Erik knows how selfish a desire that is. He knows the horror he'd bring to Charles' future were he to be so weak. And if there's one thing that Erik knows he's not, it's weak. Weapons can't afford that luxury.

In that same small part of his mind, though, he wishes it could be different. But once a weapon, always a weapon, and Charles has always been a pacifist.

Erik breathes in the silence between them like it holds the oxygen, not the air. So, when Charles speaks, when he breaks the silence out loud, Erik almost startles. He might have, except the sudden wave of _calm_ and _reassurance_ floods through his mind, polite and gentle, but all-encompassing. Erik's next breath stutters as he lets it out, and bit by bit, the tension in his shoulders drains away.

This feeling. This calmness. This is something he's only ever felt through Charles, and somehow, that feels fitting.

"Thank you," Erik begins, his voice rougher, but he makes no move to fix it. "Maybe... maybe it's time to take a page out of your book. Let them hunt me. That's the worst they can do."

Slowly, as though excising something vital, Erik draws back. He doesn't say anything else, but when he leans in and presses his lips to Charles' forehead, he pushes everything that he's able to quantify into it. Loss, regret, fondness, resignation, and the pride he feels for Charles and everything that he is.

_I will miss you terribly, my friend_ , Erik thinks fiercely. He allows himself that much, holds onto it for as long as he can, but when the resignation sets in again, Erik takes a deep, steadying breath, and then draws back, his hands falling away from Charles' warmth, back into the coldness of the air.

* * *

Charles doesn't want this conversation to be over yet, for when they cease speaking, Erik will leave. Charles may understand this - acknowledges it, even - but he still doesn't want it to come to pass. So much to say - Charles doesn't even need to use his lips or tongue to form the words. In an instant, Charles could think and transmit each and every precious and pathetic thought to Erik. Charles could expose himself so completely, each fragile hope and tenuous desire turned over to be gazed and reflected upon.

But what need would Erik have of it? Erik already knows him. There is nothing to be gained from Charles spilling sentimentalities, so he doesn't crack open his heart and pour out pointless drivel.

Perhaps if he had, they'd commiserate, they'd bemoan fate being cruel, but what good would it do? What passes between them will not change the outcome. Erik is going to leave, and Charles should be used to this as Erik always seems to be leaving.

Inside the school, some children dream, a few instructors go over their next lesson plan, and it's all Charles has ever wanted.... right? This is _his_ dream coming to fruition, an accomplishment that comes with Erik's pride, but it's also a bitter pill to swallow. It feels as if Erik is entrusting so much to him, sounds like Erik is giving up the fight, and Charles doesn't know how to process that. What is Erik without an ideal to fight for, a cause to take up? What will Erik do?

It's not a patronizing or paternal kiss to his forehead that Erik gives him. It may be a simple gesture, just a brief connection, but Charles feels how all-encompassing it is. Erik's thoughts and emotions are a strong current that threatens to sweep him up, and Charles blinks away the wetness gathering in his eyes. Even though this friendship has been the cause of so much pain, Charles owes Erik much.

Erik pulls away, and Charles doesn't stop him. His own hands once more rest in his lap.

_'I will miss you terribly, my friend_.' The words float into his mind. Certainly nothing Charles doesn't already know, but still something that grips at him.

_As will I,_ Charles replies, looking up at Erik and trying to quickly gather and remember as many details as he can about the man - from his posture to his jawline to the unruly curling hair at the nape of his neck - Charles doesn't want to forget one thing.

"Goodbye, Erik."

* * *

Erik will never let himself forget this moment in time. A chilled, clear evening, the kiss of cold along his skin contrasted with the fading warmth of Charles' touch. Erik might not be able to slow time and perception. He might not be able to do the things that Charles can do, but his memories will have to suffice. Once, they had been all he'd had - a decade of meditation locked away deep underground. He is no longer that prisoner, but as Erik draws away and catches the sight of wetness in Charles' eyes and the faint furrow of anguish on Charles' brow, he wonders if perhaps this won't be worse.

But it's never been about him. It's always been about something greater. If his life must fall so that others can live without fear, condemnation, and exploitation, what kind of man would he be to turn away from them?

Charles isn't turning away, now. Charles has taken up the mantle, and Erik is confident that Charles will do more good than he ever could.

It doesn't stop the ache in Erik's chest from deepening, doesn't stop the thickness in his throat growing tighter. There is much to say, and yet words feel paltry in comparison. In the end, Erik merely draws himself up taller; Charles knows. He's long been able to see inside of Erik, to see his core. If anyone knows, it would be Charles.

The goodbye still burns in Erik's heart, though. He takes one final, lingering look and then, finally, he ducks his head in a small nod and swallows.

"Goodbye, Charles."

His voice comes out clearer than he'd expected, but it's still rough and weaker. Vulnerability, he muses, and finds it fitting.

Erik turns away then, Charles' image locked away in his mind, and as he raises his hands, his feet lift from the balcony. Jaw clenched, resignation burning in his chest, Erik descends from the balcony and doesn't stop until he touches the ground again. With the home he'd once known growing smaller in the distance, he strides ahead purposefully.

Erik doesn't look back.


End file.
